Page 56 of Sincerely, Secretary of Doom

Mor released a grunt. “You could have taken his bargain and ruled over this village as anoble.”

“Yes, I find it rather amusing he tried to tempt a rich noble with the idea of becoming a rich noble.” Luc’s sarcasm was straight-faced, too.

“How did you manage to refuse?” Mor followed, snatching a handful of rose grass off the path to feed his crossbeast before the ride back.

Luc didn’t answer right away, and Mor looked up to see him solemn; the jokes vanished with the wind. “I never take a bargain where I could lose something,” Luc said, stopping before the rogue’s house. The door was wide open. The son the rogue had mentioned was nowhere in sight, and Mor wondered if the childling even existed or if the rogue fool had been sputtering nonsense to try and buy himself sympathy.

Mor sighed and shook his head. He spotted a nest of sea snails on the front stair. He reached to pick one up, eyeing the slug peeking out from its shell. “Why is that, Luc?” Because you can’t stand to lose?” he guessed. He turned and hurled the snail toward the cliff, aiming for the Jade Ocean to set it free.

Luc turned away from the house. “My mother once made a bargain like that,” he said. He snatched half the rose grass from Mor’s hand and headed toward the crossbeasts. He fed his beast the grass.

Mor followed and did the same, careful to keep his fingers from getting too close to his creature’s teeth. “What did your mother lose that was so faeborn important?” he asked.

Luc brushed the grass remains from his hands and rounded his crossbeast. He pulled himself onto its back in one motion and reached for the reins. Then he said, “Me.”

25

Mor Trisencor and Brunch with the Nobles

Two days sleeping and one day cleaning was two days and one day too many.

Mor scaled the early morning shadows, becoming a vapour in the wind. He moved across the sidewalks, in and out of normal speed, and finally he shed his dandelion-dusted jacket when he reached the walkways by the harbour. He folded it and hung it on the rail. And he waited.

The water sparkled with early light, rippling too far into the distance to see even with fairy sight. Human-speckled boats drifted by, and loud white birds squawked overhead.

A breeze ruffled Mor’s curls, and he glanced over to see Luc standing a few feet down the rail in a loose, light blue tunic, appearing nothing of the shadow-dominating war fae he was. He licked a cone of pink ice cream, dropping a dollop onto his shirt. In one swipe, he scooped the drip up and sucked it off his finger, rattling the pendant of eight tails hanging faithfully at his throat. His ruby was nowhere to be seen.

“Have you tried this, Trisencor?” Luc asked, holding up his ice cream cone. “It’s like a cold, sweet, cloud of icy honey.”

“Where’s your coat?” Mor asked as he glanced back out at the water.

Luc answered his question with another question. “Did you hope I would come running the moment I realized your scent was no longer masked?” He stuffed a large bite of ice cream into his mouth. Then he got to work crunching the cone.

“You did though, didn’t you?”

“Andyoucame alone.” Luc looked at Mor for the first time, his silvery eyes sparkling in the sunlight and outshining the human realm waters. Mor stared back at him.

“Don’t you wish to know why I decided to shedmydandelions?” Luc asked, raising a scarlet brow. He flicked the rest of the cone over the rail and Mor watched it fall all the way down into the harbour.

“No, not really.” Mor traced a finger over his folded jacket. “But I imagine it was for the same reason I did.”

“Yes. And now we’re both here, like we both wanted.” Luc’s cold, beastly smile was the darkest thing about the morning.

“You know I’ve been tracking your movements,” Mor said. “You probably knew it would drive me mad, too, trying to figure out what you were doing. I’ve tried stopping you with force and that didn’t work, so now, I’ll just ask. Tell me—” Mor turned to face him, “—what are you collecting, Luc?”

Luc’s smile almost fell. He kept it pasted there, just a straight line.

“What makes you think I’m collecting something?” he asked after too long a pause.

Mor searched the fairy’s face, his stance, his tone. Violet’s article wasn’t wrong; as soon as Mor had read it, he knew she’d pegged the fox correctly. “Why steal those human females’ memories of a single day of their life? What will those memories give you that you don’t already have?” he asked.

Luc’s gaze grew sharp for a second, then he tore it away and looked out at the sunlit water. “I know Violet isn’t your lover, Trisencor,” he said, but his smile broadened again. “She’s so much more special than that.”

Mor angled himself toward the fairy. “What in the name of the sky deities are you talking…” It dawned on him a little too late. He’d seen the traces of Luc’s attempted kiss on Violet from the day they met at the bus stop. He knew Luc had tried to get close to Violet, but Mor hadn’t considered…

“Did you steal something from her?” Mor asked, his hands twitching toward his fairsabers as he thought about how desperately she clung to her recollections. “At the bus stop… or in the alley?”

All Luc replied with was, “Too bad she doesn’t remember.”

---